I lower my eyes as she continues.
“Dare I say it… but Wrath might actually be the perfect challenge for you. If you can handle him, shit, if you cansurvive him, you’ll be able to handle anything. That’s not opinion. That’s a fact.”
My eyes lift to hers, and she offers me a soft smile, one I find myself returning. She reaches out, gives my forearm a gentle squeeze, then stands and moves back to my hair.
Chapter Nine
Aurelia
Later that night, I’m pacing my trailer’s living room in silence, biting my nail and chewing on thoughts. I just need to get there and get my stuff. It’s locked up, and yeah it’s been a while... but maybe, just maybe, my phone’s still there. Surely its worth a shot.
I’ve still got the cash Hell gave me when I first got here, but let’s be honest, we’re in the middle of nowhere, swallowed by woods. How the hell am I supposed to get into the city? Hitch a ride, maybe? But that screamsbad idea.
I pass the window again and something pulls my focus in my peripheral. I stop in an instant and turn my head. It’s pitch-black outside, rain hammering the glass like it always does, but there, deep in the woods, is a faint, flickering light. Small and unsteady, like a candle fighting for its life in the storm.
Squinting, I step closer, heart ticking faster as I lean over the couch to press my face closer to the glass.
“What the hell is that?”I whisper.
I pull back and just stand there, staring. A smarter version of me would let it go and pretend I didn’t see anything. But I’m restless, crawling in my skin, and the thought of being alone in this trailer another minute makes my teeth ache.
So without wasting a second longer, I grab my black Converse and crouch. After slipping them on, I pause, fingers hovering over the laces.
This is stupid. This is how girls die in horror movies.
I shake my head, trying to push the doubts away. Screw it. I’m done being scared of shadows. Plus, I haven’t really explored this place yet.
“What’s it gonna be exactly? A ghost? A fucking skin walker?”I mutter followed by a scoff and sneer, tying my laces tight.
Once done, I stand and head for the door in nothing but an oversized black shirt that barely covers my thighs. I pause as soon as I reach it, hand on the handle, ready to push it down, then the thought hits to grab my hoodie.
I glance around, but when I don’t see it, I push down the handle and a gust of rainy wind hits me, piercing and cold, whipping my long hair over my shoulders, causing me to suck in a breath.
“Fuck it, I’ll only be a few minutes.”
As I step down the short steps, the rain instantly soaks me. I close the door behind me, wrap my arms tight around myself, and head straight into the woods.
The rain eases under the cover of thick trees as I move deeper into the woods, the glow ahead pulling me in. It gets brighter with each step until I finally see the source—a cabin, tucked between the trees like it’s grown from them. I stop, slipping behind a thick trunk, and peer around it with one eye.
The place looks abandoned, but the windows, though clouded with grime, flicker with dim light. My brows knit as I study it, then step out from behind the tree and make my way toward the door, each footstep quiet and careful against the soaked ground.
It must be part of Oddity. It’s close enough to the trailer site—someone here has to be using it.
As I move closer, the door comes into view, rotting and damp with age. Above it, a broken wooden sign dangles by one rusted nail, the letters barely readable through the moss and wear:
The Dismembered Den.
I place both hands gently on the door and lean in, pressing my ear to the wet wood. But I hear nothing, not even a whisper from inside.
I pull back, glance over my shoulder one last time, then down at the knob. My fingers find it easily and curiosity wins. Before I can stop myself, I turn it. When it opens, I slip inside and glance around, but something hits me immediately, a smell so foul and unfamiliar it slams into my senses. My hand flies up to cover my mouth and nose as I gag.
Holy shit. What in the fuck is that.
Chains hang from the ceiling, thick and rusted. The outdated wallpaper is peeling in long, yellowed strips. A cupboard stands against the wall, lined with mismatched jars filled with things I don’t want to look too closely at. The whole place feels wrong, like I’ve stepped into the home of someone who doesn’t see the world the way the rest of us do.
I move forward, dodging the chains as they sway gently above me, the wooden floor groaning beneath every step. As I pass a table, my eyes land on a tarnished knife, old and heavy-looking. My hand reaches for it instinctively and I grip the handle tight, just in case.
At the far end, a door waits, and I don’t hesitate. I walk straight to it and wrap my fingers around the handle. I push it down, and as soon as it creaks open, a reveal of narrow staircase leading underground comes into view.